Chapter 29
Daphne
I’d been in a lot of uncomfortable rooms before—but nothing like this.
The boardroom at MLS headquarters was ice-cold and sterile, all clean lines and hushed tones.
The kind of place designed to make you feel small.
A long table sat at the center, surrounded by people in suits—league officials, Cam at the end, and some guy introduced as a legal advisor.
There was water on the table, untouched.
A recording device sat in the middle, blinking red.
I sat next to Kieren, but not too close. There was space between us—not because I wanted it, but because I didn’t know what the league expected from us, and I didn't want to cross a line I didn't know was drawn.
My palms were sweating. I wiped them on my skirt under the table and forced myself to sit up straight.
“Thank you both for coming in,” one of the officials said, folding his hands. “Let’s get right to it.”
No one eased into it. No warm-up. No small talk.
“We’re here to discuss the altercation with Ryder Blake and its impact on the league, the team, and public perception.”
“That was me,” Kieren said, voice steady. “I take full responsibility. Daphne had nothing to do with it.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, looking directly at the officials. “I acted on my own. No one pushed me into it. If there are consequences, they’re mine to face.”
I felt something twist inside me. He didn’t even glance at me. He wasn’t trying to win points. Wasn’t looking for pity. He meant it.
One of the officials nodded slowly. “Mr. Walker, you understand that this isn’t just about a scuffle. This was live, on-air. There are legal implications. Reputation fallout. Sponsors involved.”
“I understand,” Kieren said. “But I won’t let anyone talk about her like that. He crossed a line.”
I flinched. My name hadn’t come up yet—not directly. But now all eyes shifted to me.
“He made crude comments,” Cam added, his voice tight. “Implied Daphne was… sleeping her way through the league. Live. On a syndicated show.”
Silence followed. Heavy. Tense.
The lawyer spoke next. “If Ms. Sommers chose to pursue defamation charges, we could build a strong case.”
My heart pounded. I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. I was still trying to breathe through the fact that Kieren had thrown everything on the line for me.
“We don’t want to escalate,” Cam said. “But we also don’t want to sweep this under the rug.”
Another official leaned in. “Here’s what we propose. Ryder Blake is removed from his segment and placed on probation. He’ll issue a public apology.”
“And Walker?” Cam asked.
“He stays,” the official said. “But under probation. One more incident, and he’s benched indefinitely.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
Kieren didn’t flinch. “Fine.”
“And Ms. Sommers?” the lawyer asked, turning to me.
“I’m not pressing charges,” I said quietly. “As long as Kieren keeps playing.”
I didn’t care about the apology. I just wanted this to end.
Kieren finally turned to me then. His jaw was tight, his eyes unreadable.
But when his pinky brushed against mine under the table, I didn’t move away.
Not this time.
Just when I thought we were done, the league rep raised a hand. “There’s one more condition.”
My stomach tightened again.
Kieren stiffened beside me.
“You’ll be expected to refrain from any further altercations or confrontations with Mr. Blake,” the official said, slowly and clearly. “Regardless of what is said, regardless of context. Am I understood?”
I turned slightly toward Kieren, already feeling the storm building in him.
His jaw clenched. A slow breath left his nose, but it didn’t relax him. His fingers curled into fists on top of the table, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. Might throw it all away right there.
But then—he nodded.
“Fine,” he said, voice tight. “As long as he keeps his mouth shut, we’re good.”
The room stilled.
“But I’m warning you…” Kieren continued, his gaze cutting across the table, deadly calm now. “If he crosses a line again—if he says one more thing about her, if he even breathes her name in a way I don’t like—I don’t care about the consequences.”
Cam flinched beside me. The lawyer cleared his throat. The tension thickened like fog, pressing down hard.
Kieren didn’t blink. “There’s always Europe.”
He didn’t say it like a threat.
He said it like a plan.
The officials exchanged a look. They weren’t sure if he was bluffing, but I knew better. Kieren didn’t bluff—not when it came to people he cared about.
Not when it came to me.
I tried to swallow, but my throat was tight.
Cam jumped in quickly. “We all want the same thing here. To move forward. Clean slate. Let’s agree to that.”
Another pause. Then the league rep gave a curt nod. “Very well. We’ll draft the final terms and circulate them for signatures. We expect your cooperation, Walker.”
“You have it,” Kieren said. His voice was still sharp around the edges, but he meant it.
The meeting wrapped quickly after that. The legal advisor gathered his papers. The officials rose and left without ceremony.
I glanced up at Kieren. He was staring at the floor like he might punch it.
“You okay?” I asked.
He looked at me then, eyes burning with something fierce and unspoken.
“No,” he said. “But I’d do it all again.”
And I didn’t doubt that for a second.
I reached for his hand without thinking.
And this time—he held on.
The door clicked shut behind the last league official, and just like that—it was over.
At least, on paper.
Cam stayed behind, lingering by the conference table like he wasn’t sure whether to breathe or break something. His shoulders sagged for the first time since we walked in. He looked ten years older.
Then he let out a long breath, the kind you only release when the danger’s passed—or at least paused. “You really sold it in there,” he said, running a hand through his hair.
Kieren didn’t even blink. “There’s nothing to sell.”
His voice was steady. Quiet. But it had that steel edge I was starting to recognize—the one that meant he wasn’t bluffing, wasn’t spinning anything for show.
“This isn’t a performance,” he said, locking eyes with Cam. “This is real.”
Cam stilled.
So did I.
And I don’t know what I expected, but that—his voice, the weight behind it, the truth laid bare like that—it hit me hard. Not in a romantic, swoony way.
No.
In the kind of way that made my heart ache and my spine straighten at the same time.
Cam gave a small nod, but I could see the gears in his head still turning. His expression softened just enough for the concern to slip through.
“You’re putting everything on the line for her,” Cam said, not unkindly. “You sure you know what that means?”
Kieren turned to look at me, and I swear, it felt like the world slowed down for just a second.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know exactly what it means.”
The room went quiet again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t tense. It was filled with something else entirely.
Conviction.
Cam finally stepped away from the table and clapped Kieren lightly on the shoulder. “Well,” he muttered, trying to break the mood with a half-smile. “Guess I better go write some very expensive press statements.”
Kieren gave a dry chuckle. “Make me sound tall and heroic.”
Cam laughed once, low and tired. “I’ll do my best.”
He gave me a look before leaving—a quiet kind of look, one that said take care of him, even if he didn’t say the words aloud.
And then it was just us.
I turned toward him, searching his face. His bruises had started to swell, coloring his cheekbone and jaw, and his lip was cracked in the corner. But none of that dulled the way he looked at me.
There was no apology in his eyes.
Just a fierce, unwavering clarity.
“You really meant it,” I said softly. “What you said in there.”
He nodded once. “Every word.”
We walked out together, fingers laced, the sun glaring like it had something to prove.
The moment the doors swung open, the buzz hit me first—low and electric. Then came the shouts, the camera flashes, the swell of bodies closing in.
Paparazzi.
Great.
Kieren tightened his grip on my hand, his thumb brushing across my knuckles like a silent message: I’ve got you.
I didn’t realize how tense I was until that small touch unraveled some of it.
We didn’t break stride, didn’t flinch, just kept walking down the concrete steps like we were on a red carpet neither of us had asked for. I kept my chin high, though my pulse was thudding in my ears.
“Kieren! Any comments on the Ryder Blake incident?”
“What really happened between you and Daphne?”
“Are you leaving the MLS?”
“Is it true you threw the first punch because he insulted your girlfriend?”
Girlfriend.
I shouldn’t have liked how that sounded, but I did.
Kieren didn’t stop, but he did glance toward the cameras with that lazy, cocky grin he wore like a second skin.
“Oh, is that what they’re calling it now?” he called out. “An incident?”
A few photographers laughed.
Another reporter shoved a mic closer. “Was it true Ryder said something about Daphne that pushed you over the edge?”
Kieren shrugged. “Ryder says a lot of things. Most of them sound better coming from the garbage disposal.”
Laughter again—this time from a cluster of younger paparazzi who clearly weren’t expecting a quote that sassy this early in the day.
The older ones stayed focused. “You could be facing suspension. Is it worth it?”
Kieren stopped walking. Just for a second. Right at the base of the stairs, where the light hit his jaw and made the bruises on his face look even darker.
He looked down at me. And then back up.
“Let me make it real simple,” he said. “You talk about my girl, you talk to me.”
That was it. That was the whole statement.
No apologies. No backpedaling.
He turned with me still in his grasp and kept walking toward the car, cutting through the cameras and noise like it was nothing.
But my heart… it was another story entirely.
When we finally reached the blacked-out SUV Cam had sent for us, he opened the door for me and waited until I was inside before sliding in next to me.
The door slammed shut, muffling the noise outside.
I looked over at him.
His hand was still warm in mine.
“You didn’t have to say that,” I whispered, breath catching.
He leaned back against the seat, bruised and defiant and beautiful in his own unpolished way.
“Yeah,” he said. “I did.”
The car was quiet except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional click of the blinker. We were maybe fifteen minutes from home, but time had stopped somewhere around the moment Kieren reached for my hand.
His fingers brushed mine first—casual, almost. But when I didn’t pull away, he laced our hands together and just held on like he needed the connection to breathe.
We hadn’t said much since the meeting. I didn't think words were necessary. Not after everything that happened, everything he had said.
The driver up front hadn’t spoken a word, professional and focused on the road, probably pretending we didn’t exist. Fine by me.
Kieren shifted slightly in the seat beside me, turning toward me. I could feel his gaze before I met it—heavy and searching.
When I looked up, his eyes were already on my face. And there was that look again. Like I was the only thing tethering him to the ground.
“You okay?” he asked softly, voice pitched low enough just for me. Genuine in tone, so much so it almost made my heart ache.
I nodded, but it felt automatic.
“I will be,” I said.
He gave my hand a squeeze. “We’re almost there.”
“I know.”
And then neither of us spoke. The silence stretched again, thick with everything we weren’t saying.
I could feel the shift before it happened.
Kieren let go of my hand only to reach up, his fingers brushing the hair from my cheek like he couldn’t help himself. My heart stuttered in my chest, and I saw it in his eyes—that pull, that question, that reckless need.
I answered it.
I leaned in first, just enough. And that was all it took.
His mouth met mine halfway, gentle at first. A slow, tentative brush of lips. Testing the waters. But when I didn’t pull back—when I kissed him like I meant it—the temperature changed entirely.
He deepened the kiss like he couldn’t stand not to.
My hand slid up his chest, clinging to the fabric of his shirt, and his arm came around my waist, pulling me closer. The leather seat creaked under us as we angled toward each other, both of us doing a terrible job pretending we weren’t in a moving vehicle with someone else in the front seat.
I didn’t care.
His lips were warm, confident, and a little desperate. Like he’d been waiting for this—we’d been waiting for this—and now that it was happening, neither of us wanted to stop.
My heart thudded against my ribs. His fingers found my jaw, angling me closer, and the kiss turned deeper, hotter, tangled.
I forgot everything for a moment.
Where we were.
Why we were even in this car.
The only thing that mattered was the way Kieren kissed me like I was his. No cameras. No scripts. No pretending.
Just us.
By the time we finally pulled apart, breathing a little too fast, my lips felt swollen and my thoughts were a mess.
Kieren rested his forehead against mine, smiling in that quiet, private way he reserved just for me.
“Worth the wait,” he murmured.
I smiled back, even as my heart raced.
Yeah. It really, really was.